


8:07...8:08...

by Brice_Gottlieb



Category: Original Work, Red vs. Blue
Genre: Drabble, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Hospitalization, Late at Night, Project Freelancer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:03:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4814252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brice_Gottlieb/pseuds/Brice_Gottlieb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'd like to read a story in the newspaper that ends with "but she was just having a bad dream..."</p><p> </p><p>"Really, she's okay...."</p>
            </blockquote>





	8:07...8:08...

She sat down in the chair and played our song. 

 

She left the speaker by the bedside, even when she wasn't there. There were meetings, and training, and sometimes she couldn't sit around waiting for you to wake up. She missed it, though. She missed your laughter at her side when roaming the corridors for fun. She missed your jabs and quips. Hell, she probably even missed the way you annoyed her. Anything was better than sitting beside vigil over your unconscious body. A body doesn't tease or reassure. A body doesn't create smiles.

 

But she plays the song and she sings along, but she always messes up the freestyle because she knows that you're the one to cover it. She never had to learn it when you were at her side. Time is passed on tablets and during naps stolen when she thinks your condition will change least. And you lay there, by her side, until you manage the strength to open your eyes again.

 

She's there to help you sit up. Somehow, her hands are stronger than you remember. Or, maybe, it's just how weak you've become.

 

And the speaker plays our song. But you don't have the courage to sing along. Not now.

 

"Maya...what have I done?"

 

 

\---

 

 

She's sitting up in bed again. You are tempted just to pull at her sleeve, to coax her back into bed. Maybe say something flirty, get her mind off of...whatever had her bold upright in the first place. Nightmares, again, but of what, you're not certain. 

 

The sheets are pooled about her waist and you reach out. She flinches as you adjust the fabric, free it from around her legs. 

 

She's okay.

 

"You weren't awake anymore..." she whispers into the dark.

 

You pull her back down to the cot, hold her tight to your chest. You kiss her hairline and grit sleep-heavy words from between your teeth. 

 

She's Okay.

 

You tell her that much.


End file.
